“You found him,” Levon says. “You found the charm guy. The Talisman. Since he appeared outside of training, you must’ve almost been in a life-threatening situation. What the hell were you doing out there for him to appear?”
The bacon is dry in my mouth and the coffee to wash it down with is terrible, like Levon made it days ago.
He rolls his eyes as I clearly evade his question. How do I say sanely, I was searching for the lady who was singing a song? It made so much sense to me earlier, to go search for it. But now, without hearing the song while I think, it’s obviously a stupid idea in general.
“Look,” he says, “it’s going to be overwhelming but there’s a lot to tell you. And today is your first day of training, sis.” He mumbles while he rifles through the pantry and finds a rogue piece of paper and a pen which looks like it belongs to a bank from the ‘50s. “But you already met your Protector so guess it won’t be so bad.” He clears his throat. “Write this down-”
“Is it don’t go out at night?”
“Yes,” he says, nodding while he pours coffee. “That’s first. Second is going to be, you need to give your charm a name.” He sits across from me and takes a long drink.
“How is that not burning your mouth?”
“Oh, sis,” he says. “It friggin’ burns.” He coughs and blinks tears back. “Anyways, your Talisman needs a name. Write it down, make it true. You gotta call him something other than charm.”
“Uhm-”
“Just write it down under the first thing,” he says. He leans back in the chair and crosses his leg. “What’s the name?”
“I wrote Talis Man,” I say. “Is that acceptable to you, you friggin’ weirdo?”
“Sure,” he says. “Take that up with Talis Man. Anyways,” he says, shaking his foot. “This is going to sound crazy but I mean, you know. I can show you. But first write down exactly what I say.” He clears his throat again. “Tula Lyla is a Leaver. Talis Man is her Protector.”
“Why didn’t I meet him before? Like he could’ve just showed up and eat breakfast with the family, you know?”
“You have to be of age to meet the Protector, idiot.” He taps his fingers on the table. “Alright, let me rephrase. You have to come of age because anything before then, meeting them burns the Protectors up. Like they disintegrate if they meet you before and then you’ll be without a Protector and have to live this whole life over again after this lifetime.”
Hard to believe, that’s for sure. So my parents were afraid I’d question their sanity and spread the word of how important I am as a Leaver? Which to be fair, I probably would’ve done both. How great of a gossip story would that be to talk to Priya about it for hours on end. Or who knows, the drama club? Not that I was a part of the drama club, but I would assume they would enjoy a good parent-is-insane story. And if Levon told me all of these crazy details before today, I would’ve definitely told anyone who would listen to me like Adam or someone.
But let’s say Levon isn’t insane or drugged, or possibly experiencing a cabon-dioxide-induced fantasy and all of this is real. Why are there so many reasons for mom, dad, and Levon to leave me so out of the loop for this long? Am I that much of a gossip? Can’t be, since I really only talk to Priya. And I didn’t even talk to Adam that much when we were dating. So Priya it is. I don’t get it, why am I so untrustworthy?
The breeze from the basement door pushes my paper around and I hold the corners of it in place.
“Lyla.” He leans in close. “This place is called The Host.” He taps the paper. “Write it down.”
“Why am I writing all this down?”
It’s my obstinance showing. The stubbornness I’ve cultivated so well through the past years which probably validates my parents first concern, truthfully, of judging their sanity. Though, I listen to Levon and write this third thing down because I did meet a man-bear murderer in the woods today after I followed a song into the forest which gives this talk with Levon just a millimeter of validity.
“You’re going to freak out and stress out and ask me these question a million times over so if you write the things down you can learn faster.” He shrugs a shoulder and smirks. “Maybe more like you won’t be annoying me as much.”
1. Don’t go out at night.
2. Talis Man
3. Tula Lyla is a Leaver. Talis Man is her Protector
4. Grandparent’s house is called The Host
Yeah, he’s absolutely right. I’d ask him to repeat himself a million times if I didn’t write it down.
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I missed Levon so much. My big brother. A peculiar and eccentric strange bird who used to be not those things but I love him either way even if he may be living a wild delusion of a life right now.
“Anything else today?” I ask. “Any more training and rules and crazy-people things?”
“Training didn’t start yet,” he says. “Tessa said you’ll be training with this guy named Siegrist. He’s crazy but he’s good. Just trust him and listen to your instincts and training will go smoothly. Training is your number one priority for the next few weeks because, well actually,” he says, “most Leavers meet their Protector during the first training session but since you already met him because you went frolicking in the woods towards a Siren, I don’t know how the first training session will go.” He finishes his coffee. “And as Leavers we’re contractually obliged to attend training by our designated trainer. And before you ask, the contract is signed before our soul comes here and you don’t remember now, but you’ll remember later.”
The air conditioning kicks on and he takes our plates to the sink.
“Hey,” he says, rinsing them off. “Why’d you ask me if I was home earlier?”
The basement door. It’s eerie. And if I had my charm, I’d reach for it. I feel it calling me. Maybe I left it on the couch. So that’s what I’m going to do while I decide if I need to check my brother into a psych ward or if I need to check myself into one considering how much I might believe him.
I toss both of the cushions to the side. There’s old pennies and a cough drop. Unwrapped. It looks like it was in someone’s mouth for at least three minutes. It’s sticky. Yuck. And it sticks to the carpet. I thought it’d bounce but nope. Just sticky.
“Lyla?”
“Yeah?”
Levon says, “The hell are you doing?”
“Finding my charm. I can’t find it.” I push the cushion back into place but Levon stands on the other one teetering his weight between his legs as the cushion sinks and shifts.
“Sis,” he says. “You found him already. He’s not a charm anymore. Not a little thing dad pretended to carve.” He kneels down and picks at the cough drop but it doesn’t move from the shag carpet “I know it sounds crazy but dad didn’t carve those things. That little story with the deer antler and dad carving it so it grows with you?” He pretends to spit. “Horse pukey.”
“Is the term pukey or puckey?”
“Dunno. Floor’s lava!” he screams.
The couch squeaks under my weight. “One, two,” we yell together as fast as we can, “three, four.”
“Aye aye, Captain!” I yell, hand to my forehead.
“Counter clockwise, five!” he shouts, bouncing as much as he can on the cushion.
I spin the direction the captain says. “One, two, three, four, five.”
“Now jump.”
Instead of actually jumping, the back of the couch stands firm against my weight as I edge myself to the arm of the couch. “Aye, aye-”
Levon grabs his stomach and throws his head back in laughter. Ridiculous fake laughter. “Wow, sis, you seriously suck at this. You can’t tiptoe if I say jump. Plus, you didn’t cross the lava. Lose, you lose. Walk the plank, ya idiot.”
Have you ever had your heart thump in your chest while you play of hide and go seek with no lights and the tag version and you know you might be seen as you sit precariously on the edge of the bathtub between the shower curtains? Sure, I’m not actually going to be deathed by knife but it does send adrenaline through your veins. That’s how I feel as I stand on the arm backwards, eyes closed, arms crossed across my chest.
A whoosh of air rushes pass my ears and forces my hair to brush past my cheeks and temple. Like a trampoline catching you and your body bouncing a few inches before you find your footing, Levon is there to catch me as I walk the plank.
Hey, it’s the most intense we’ve ever been able to make the floor is lava game. Dad gave us the idea as we grew out of hopping furniture and mom gave us the words to use. It’s a little ode to them, in a way, for Levon and me to continue playing even though adulthood says we’re too old. But no way. Never to old.
And by the way, whoever loses has to pick up the room after we’ve trashed it. So that’s what I do – grab the cushion on the floor by the sticky cough drop and fit it back into the couch.
“I have a story to tell you but I have to go, so don’t let me forget.” Levon adjust his hair and hands me a wad of paper he had shoved in his pocket. “And this is from dad. Read this thing I’ve saved it for you for like three or four years and then head outside afterwards. I’ll see you out there.”
Alright. Levon pats my head and outside, he goes. He leaves me on litterbox couch. I untangle the papers and smooth them out. It’s dad’s handwriting. It says-
My little world,
There’s so much to tell you.
First, I love you so much.
And that’s it. That’s all I can read without wiping tears. I crumple it up and run upstairs to my room, packing them away in my bag. But a few of my fishbowl words lay on top of the pocket my hand rests on to unzip.
1. Aggrandize : To embellish, increase the scope or importance of
2. Anachronism: Locating something at a time when it couldn’t have existed
3. Banal: Repeated too often; overfamiliar through overuse
4. Chicanery: The use of tricks to deceive someone
Brush them off, unzip, dad’s letter in the pocket, rezip. Pace the room, back and forth. Forth and back. Am I nuts or what?
When emotions turn on – fear, grief, anxiety - their impossible to switch off immediately. Overwhelmed, so overwhelmed I am. Oh my, oh my, so much grief I’ve pushed off from processing for far too long. I wander down the steps and sit on the couch. Oh my, oh my, so much of my reality has been rocked today. Tears come, one after another. And another. And more. But the sunlight beaming through the living room window, warming my back, bathing the shag carpet in front of me, begs me to come outside. It’s a decent idea. So going to get some fresh, sunny air instead of crying on a dirty old couch.
Oh my, oh my.
Video sed non credo
I see it, but I do not believe it